PS I'm Sorry
by Keiko Yuki
Summary: In the aftermath of war, those who lived through it are never the same. Is there a way for their lives to continue the way they had been before? Or are they to be forever lost in their search for themselves? EWE Hinted H/D, He/R, G/N.


Yawning, Ron reached for a roll from a bowl that seemed to be most inconveniently placed at the farthest point possible from his seat. Through bleary eyes, he swatted impatiently toward the bowl. The corners of his mouth pulled down and he exhaled through his nose harshly with frustration. His fingers brushed against the bowl and he was adamant that he would reach it without having to stand up.

"Honestly Ronald," Hermione huffed as she pushed his elbow away from her face. She then reached easily for the bowl and brought it within the redhead's reach.

"Thanks Herm," he smiled and kissed her on the cheek, flushing as he realized that he'd just done so within the view of half of Gryffindor and the majority of the student body.

The hall seemed more crowded than ever and yet empty at the same time. There were a few familiar faces, all those who chose to return and finish their seventh or sixth year. There were new arrivals, yet it was not enough to fill the spaces left behind by those who had perished and not returned. It was sad to look at the Gryffindor table, with its unoccupied spaces and haggard expressions marring the faces of the older students. Gryffindor table was not the only table in this state but it was easily surpassed by the Slytherins, whose missing students were either dead, in hiding or in Azkaban.

Ron sighed as he looked at the roll he'd fought so hard to obtain. It was perfect in almost every way (short of being made by his mum) yet he didn't really have any desire to eat it. Sniffing and wiping moisture from his eyes he took a small bite from the warm bread. It tasted every bit as good as it should have, right texture, right flavor, not too much butter on the outside, but there was no enjoyment from that morsel.

Hermione glanced worriedly at her boyfriend, embarrassment forgotten. She gingerly lifted a cup of tea to her lips and took a delicate sip. She inched slightly closer to Ron, her thigh pressing against his and her shoulder pressing gently against his side. She knew that he felt guilt and sadness for those who were lost, especially his brother. She felt tears prickling at her eyes as she thought about the Weasley family in their grief. Sniffing quietly, she forced herself to stop the sensation rising up her throat, pushing insistently against her eyes and stuffing her nose.

"Thank you," a small whisper, sincere and tight floated to her ears. She almost came undone at that moment, listening to her broken best friend and partner. The most frustrating part was that she had no idea what to do. All the research in the world couldn't help prepare her for what Ron was going through;, what they were all going through. She felt Ron shift, lifting his arm and wrapping it around her shoulders. She rested her cheek on his chest, listening to his slow yet steady heartbeat.

It was quiet for a while at their end of the table. All of the upper years were congregated at the area closest to the teacher's table. Everywhere else, chatter and excited reunions took place, lifting the spirits of most of the other students. What sounded like a great commotion erupted suddenly from behind the doorway to the Great Hall, muted slightly by the giant wooden doors.

It took all of two minutes for the attention of every person in the hall to turn completely to what was going on outside of the large room. Almost as one, the seventh and sixth years stood up, poised to run, raise their wand or protect the children. Some looked abashed because of their quick assumption and moved to sit but still refrained from doing so. The Professors stiffened but none made to stand except Minerva McGonagall, whose expression was furious to say the very least.

Then they heard the voices:

"IS THIS THE ONLY WAY I CAN GET _THROUGH_ TO YOU?!"

"I'VE ALREADY EXPLAINED MYSELF TO YOU, WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"BECAUSE YOU'RE BEING EVASIVE!"

"I TOLD YOU EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW!"

"YOU NEED HELP, HARRY POTTER! I'M TRYING TO GIVE IT TO YOU, YOU ARROGANT SOD!"

"WHAT IF I DON'T _WANT_ HELP?! WHY CAN'T YOU JUST _LEAVE ME ALONE_!"

Then there was silence. Almost every face was that of confusion and the upper years as well as the majority of the teachers had no idea what to do. A soft murmur rose and then fell as the doors flung open, revealing a flustered Ginny Weasley. Silence was oppressive as she stomped her way to the area where Hermione, Ron and Neville were sitting. She sat next to Neville, across from her brother and Hermione.

She reached for a bowl and started serving herself from it. After a few seconds, she raised her eyes upward to address the room. "What are you all looking at?!"

Furious whispers and conversations mingled in the air not a full second after her angry question. Neville looked uncomfortable and the couple across from her separated. Ginny glared at her food, not even the least bit interested in eating it. "Sometimes…" she sighed furiously through her gritted teeth and pounded her fists on the table on either side of her plate, sending scrambled eggs bouncing off her plate. "…I could kill him." She pinched the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes tightly.

Hermione glanced at Ron and then reached forward to grasp Ginny's clenched fist gently. "Do you want to talk about it? We could go back to the dorms if you'd like?"

"No," Ginny gritted out as she released her nose and opened her slightly reddened eyes. "No, I'm going to eat my breakfast and so help anyone who mentions Harry Bloody Potter."

Ron looked like he wanted to protest but Hermione restrained him with a hand on his shoulder. He turned red, as if he were holding his breath and picked up his roll once more. He didn't move to eat it, but rather started to rip the outer shell to pieces. He was muttering something under his breath but even Hermione could not make out any of the words. She sighed once more and moved to her cup of tea.

Neville cleared his throat and turned to Ginny. "What are you planning on doing this weekend?"

Ginny glanced at Neville before picking up her fork and scooping up some eggs that had survived. "Don't you think it's a little early to start making plans? It's only Monday." Her tone was blunt and neither gentle nor unkind.

Neville winced slightly but ploughed on. "Well, I was just wondering whether you wanted to come with me to get some things for the nursery. I'll be working on a project this year and I wanted to get the proper equipment. I thought you'd be interested…" He trailed off as he picked up his pastry and took a healthy bite from it.

Ginny chewed her eggs and swallowed, the action seemed to be more difficult than necessary. She turned to Neville, apology shining in her blue eyes. "I'm so sorry Nev, I'm just so frustrated. I didn't mean to be short with you."

"Oh, Gin, you're not short at all. I mean, look at Flitwick!" He chuckled and bestowed a wide smile unto the redhead.

Her eyes widened a bit as she blinked at Hermione and then Neville. She smiled shakily and started to laugh softly; she covered her mouth with one hand and chuckled a bit as she gave in to her mirth. A look of relief started to light Neville's face as he watched her shoulders shake with laughter. Her chuckles soon turned into sobs, however, and Neville's relief was drained away quickly. Both he and Ron watched with helplessness and looked toward Hermione, begging for help with their eyes.

Hermione rushed around the table to Ginny and hugged her while simultaneously pulling her away from the table toward the door. The room once again fell silent as the two Gryffindors made their way through the exit. Neville and Ron looked at each other for a few hushed seconds and then simultaneously grabbed their books and headed to class early.

----

Harry sat on the windowsill, knees drawn up as tightly to his body as he could, resting his chin atop them. His hands were fisted in his singed hair, broken glasses thrown atop his bed. His breath hitched as he drew in needed oxygen shallowly, shoulders jumping with the action. Silent tears trailed across his face, burning tracks where he refused to wipe them and making him itch. He tasted salt and it made his tongue and lips dry.

The desire to be alone had increased exponentially within the last two weeks. The only difference he knew of that could have caused such a reaction was the reception of a Hogwarts letter inviting him to return and finish his final year. It had seemed silly and awkward at first, returning when he really should have been finished but Ginny had seemed excited. "We could both graduate together!" She had whispered excitedly and bestowed him with a smile.

Ron and Hermione had decided to go back and, at the time, it seemed like Harry had had no other choice but to accept. He had been frightened, and had had several nightmares before his arrival last night. He couldn't get all of his emotions out of his head though he desperately wanted to. Grief, fear, frustration, sadness, and guilt had played a major part in his brain since the defeat of Voldemort.

He had fulfilled his task; he was free to be whom or what he wanted so why did he feel so frustrated and angry? He didn't know how to answer that question, and Ginny had not stopped asking it since they'd gotten back together. He loved Ginny but she didn't understand him. Desperately, he wanted her to understand, to look into his eyes and know exactly what to say or do to make him feel better about the world, about himself.

Why was it that, with Voldemort gone, he felt empty?

The horrifying thought floated, unbidden through his psyche. He felt like he had no purpose, no direction. Everyone wondered what was next for the Boy Who Lived but no one cared, not really. With the Dark Lord gone, there really was no space for the Boy Who Lived except to maybe become Minister of Magic, a position that Harry would give serious consideration to being a sewer inspector in order to avoid.

He felt repulsive, wishing his life hadn't ever changed. He was happy that the world was at peace, but he wasn't happy about the cost. The cost had been so dear. What had he done to deserve losing what was left of his old family and part of his new family as well? The sadness it caused was unbearable and more often than not he felt like hiding himself in a cave until everyone had adjusted to their losses and regained some semblance of happiness.

Harry pulled at his hair and pressed his cheek against the cold window, feeling the pattering of the cool rain against the glass. His heart felt too full and too empty at the same time. How could he possibly explain that to another human being? Who could possibly understand?

Growling in frustration he pounded a fist against the glass, felt it vibrate under his cheek. He tried to think about Ginny; how much he loved her; about how she had made him feel. It only made him angrier because it only made him come to the painful realization that he had _loved_ her. Past tense.

He felt like he needed to get out of the castle, to fly away into nothingness but he felt that he had nowhere to belong. Conflicting feelings swirled around his brain, making him feel dizzy. He lifted his gaze to the window and looked through the glass. His heavy breath flared across the smooth transparent surface, disrupting it with the grey shadows of his exhalation.

He lazily trailed a finger through the fog, erasing it from existence easily. His throat tightened as he looked outward toward the tall grasses, the gentle movement of the lake, and the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by the feeling, no, _need_ to be out there. He had to take part of the rain, the mud, the grass, the pure _life_ of it all. Maybe he had been living with death for too long. Maybe what he needed was to learn how to live for the living rather than the dead.

Decision made, he hopped energetically toward the edge of his bed where his trainers were carelessly abandoned and gathered up his belongings. Pausing to pull at the backs of his trainers so they slipped on easier, he swept up his schoolbag and shoved his glasses onto his face. Ready, he bounded down the stairs, thrilling at the almost weightless feel of running and jumping down two, three, four steps at a time. As he left Gryffindor common room, he felt a weight disappearing, leaving behind shocked faces of students getting their last minute assignments taken care of.

He ran through the portrait hole and toward the moving staircases. Impatient to get outside, he jumped the space between the last stair and the landing he needed to get to, laughing as his insides tickled with the feeling. When he opened the door leading to the outside, he hesitated. Pulling great amounts of air, he debated on what to do. Classes soon and he could see some students heading to classes early and even thought he'd seen Ron and Neville in his mad dash to get outside.

The rain could be faintly heard outside and he could almost feel it pulling him toward the door. It was a heady feeling and he wanted desperately to become a part of its energy. Decision made, he dropped his bag on the floor in a small corner where it was least likely to become trampled and pushed the wooden door farther ajar.

He was aware of its smell before the physical sensation of the rain. The outside air was a bit cold and there was just enough wind to make its presence known. It was glorious and he walked right out onto the lawn without another moment of hesitation. He ran his fingers through his midnight hair soothingly as if to apologize for its earlier mistreatment. The rain seemed to get heavier the longer he stood there, hands gently cradling his scalp, nose lifted skyward, lips slightly parted in an expression of relief.

Clouds swiftly made their way across the slightly gray backdrop. Rain rolled gently over his face, glasses, dripping from his eyelashes, tickling his nose. He felt like the rain washed away all of his confusion and emotion, leaving behind _Harry_. How could it have been that simple? All he needed was to realize that this was the reason heartache and sadness was worth it. To live, he thought, is a gift that should not be taken for granted because of this interconnectedness. Looking up in the sky, he let his tears fall once again, grief rolling off of him with the purity of the rain.

This, he thought, is magic.

----

Draco Malfoy sat alone at his table in potions, quiet and forlorn. His long, pale fingers traced the dark grain of the wood idly as he watched the slow trickle of water gathering at the sill of the window he sat next to. He felt alone in a room that was quickly becoming crowded. His friends were gone or not speaking to him, like Blaise. Pansy was not finishing her education at Hogwarts, preferring to separate herself from those who would judge and accuse her of crimes she had been acquitted of. He should have gone with her.

He wanted to prove something by coming back to Hogwarts, just what that was he wasn't sure anymore. He'd thought that by returning, he would show that he was not the coward he'd once been. Quickly he found that it was probably because he _was_ a coward that he returned to Hogwarts. It was desperation that had him clinging to normalcy of any shape or form. Hogwarts, he supposed, was a part of that normalcy even if it might have been the more difficult of transitions.

The majority of the Slytherin dorms was vacant, the amount of students who were permitted to finish their education and those who were capable of doing so were few and far in between. Draco had had to fight surprisingly little for his slot in the student body. Draco had not been able to complete any crime and had provided sufficient evidence that his efforts had not been carried out of his own free will. There had been tremendous consequences of course, including the jailing of his father and a surrender of a large amount of the Malfoy fortune. Which, in retrospect, was a fair deal considering the alternative.

Pride goeth before the fall. Indeed.

Slughorn made his way slowly across the threshold of the door and to his desk. With a rather forced smile, he greeted the class before turning toward the chalkboard to write down their assignment for the period. When finished, one partner from each table went to retrieve ingredients while the other began reading (or, in Granger's case, rememorizing) the instructions.

Draco grimaced as he realized that there were no other individuals available to partner with. He glanced at Slughorn with frustration and the professor shrugged. "Sorry Mr. Malfoy, but it seems you'll have to make do by yourself. You're reasonably talented, so it should be no trouble, right?" Without waiting for an answer, the rotund man turned toward his reading material and turned a page.

It took effort to lift himself from the chair, so tired of going through the motions was he. He quickly went over what he would need before leaving the relative safety of his desk to retrieve the ingredients necessary. Carefully arranging his materials next to his cauldron with the closest being the first to be added and the farthest being the last, he went about setting up his station.

There was a crack of lightning, quickly followed by thunder and a good portion of the class jolted with the noise. Squelching was heard soon after as none other than Harry Potter opened the door to the Potions classroom tentatively. Draco fixed neutral gray eyes on the Gryffindor, assessing his appearance.

The boy's robes were positively soaking, with mud on the hem about three inches deep as if he had stood so long in the rain he'd begun to sink. His normally wild hair, Draco observed, was plastered against his skull with a few wisps managing to curl not unattractively away from his head. His glasses had cracks through the lenses and were set at an awkward angle on his face. Draco noted that they were still wet also, spattered with rain because apparently their owner had not seemed to care that his vision was obscured.

Green eyes unhidden by the combined effort of his cracked glasses and water slowly scanned the room, falling briefly on the table where Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom sat. He shifted bodily away when his gaze met the simmering blue of the redhead. Draco felt when Potter's gaze landed on the empty seat next to him and was surprised when the expression in those eyes didn't change in the slightest upon the discovery of the table's occupant.

Draco's brows pulled together slightly as he saw a moment of indecision flash over the boy's eyes. Potter shifted his bag higher onto his shoulder from where it had slipped down due to the wetness of his clothing.

"Well Mr. Potter, it's nice of you to join us!" Slughorn practically gushed as he put a bookmark onto the page he'd been reading. Slughorn glanced at Draco briefly before smiling tightly at Potter. "Fortunately for you, there is an available seat next to Mr. Malfoy. Please do return to your potions, class!" He lifted himself from his seat and began to walk past each station, critiquing as he went.

Potter moved smoothly toward the table and the seat that had been pointed out to him by the Professor. In one fluid movement, the wet bag was placed on the floor and he was sitting next to the blond with a soft squelching sound.

Draco tried his hardest to school his features into a neutral expression. He had no desire to spark up past animosity, wishing only to get through the year with good marks and as little trouble as possible. He spared a quick glance toward Potter, moving his gaze away and then quickly back again.

Green eyes were staring intently into his own and now that he'd been caught looking, he found he couldn't be the first to break the eye contact. Even though he didn't wish to return to his previous behavior, it did not necessarily mean that his competitive nature had been fully suppressed. Deep in the back of his mind he knew that this was probably not the best decision he'd made, but then there had been so many others that had been worse.

He tried to blink as little as he could while not looking ridiculous which was definitely not easy. Potter didn't really seem to be affected, just staring into his once-enemy's eyes and not hinting at any surrender or comment.

In those moments of silence, Draco noticed the other features of that face without breaking eye contact. He was close enough to see that the boy had not shaved this morning and also that no one else would probably noticed until late afternoon because it wasn't really that noticeable to begin with. He noted the faint freckles atop the slightly flat nose, usually unobserved because of the darkness of the boy's skin tone.

Potter breathed through his mouth, lips parted just slightly enough that he didn't look like a fool, but also allowing the flow of air in and out easily. Draco thought it different and he grinned inwardly at the silliness of memorizing such traits about a person he'd been destined to fight with as their birthright.

The clearing of a throat caused the both of them to rip their gazes from each other simultaneously. A stalemate, then.

He didn't catch who it had been, but Slughorn was getting dangerously close to their cauldron and only the preliminary work had been done. Draco quickly burst into action and started the concoction off, glancing at his notes to make sure he had the color right.

"Add another pinch of the leaves." His desk companion murmured as he plucked at his soaking outfit.

"What?" Draco whispered tensely.

"Just do it, the color will get a shade closer. Enough to get passing scores, at least." Potter resumed the nervous plucking, the sickly sucking sounds the clothing made pricked at Draco's ears. He found it annoyingly appealing in a way that he really didn't want to visit.

Frustrated by both his reaction to a very wet and squirming Potter and the advice that made sense, he couldn't help but snap back. "Oh, and all of a sudden you're a potions expert, are you?"

Potter looked a bit taken aback and then sad. "A good man I once knew taught me a few things." He shrugged, "he kind of stuck with me."

Not knowing what to say or even how to react, Draco slowly pinched some of the yellow leaves and slowly moved toward the roiling cauldron.

"No!" Potter reached out and grasped Draco's wrist, the touch neither gentle nor rough.

Draco pinched the leaves tighter and fixed a wide-eyed gaze toward the Gryffindor. His body was screaming for him to react to the touch but his brain wouldn't fire the impulses necessary to execute that demand. His world was focused on the heat trailing up his right arm from the callused fingers gripping into his skin.

Gray eyes stared at the dark hand and marveled at the contrast between that warmth and his coldness, the Gryffindor's color and his own pallor. He blinked slowly and lifted his head to level Potter with a stare he hoped was reminiscent of those he'd dealt in the past. "Do you mind?"

Potter, every bit as dazed as Draco had been, let go of his wrist with an apologetic glance. "Sorry, I just wanted to tell you you had too much. You only need a little."

Draco watched as Potter reached into the bowl and pinched just a slight amount, placed his left hand on the back of Draco's chair and dropped the leaves into the cauldron with the other. When the other boy took his seat, he looked slightly flushed, but Draco was more worried about what he himself must have looked like in that second.

Fortunately, some higher power must have taken sympathy on him because Slughorn had made his way to their table. "What do we have here?" Slughorn peered into the cauldron's contents and smiled satisfactorily. He reached into Draco's potions kit and plucked out a vial, ladling a small sample of their potion and raising it up toward the candlelight.

"Very nice coloring!" He gushed once more; obviously proud that two of his students had successfully produced the right potion. He waved the vial carefully, displaying it for the other students who were apparently nowhere near the right color, let alone the precise shade it had to be.

Draco noticed Hermione Granger looking at Draco disdainfully and, to his surprise, fixing Potter with that same look. Well, worse things had happened, like Potter correcting him and actually being right, for one. Draco tried to brush off the moment that he and Potter had just shared while nodding in acknowledgement to something their professor had said.

Gray eyes chanced a glance toward the black-haired youth sitting next to him. Potter was sitting, right hand curled over his textbook fiddling with the corner of a page while the left was brought up to his mouth. Upon closer inspection, Draco found that Potter had a habit of biting his thumbnail. The blond wrinkled his nose in disgust, but saw that it didn't seem that the boy was biting it off, but rather pinching the nail between his teeth.

Draco wanted to tear his eyes away, knowing that it was impolite to be staring at a person, especially when said person was a sworn lifelong enemy. Yet, the Slytherin found that he couldn't keep from glancing at the boy, watching Potter's lips move against his thumb as he read the words silently to himself. Draco hadn't known the boy to study frequently or even read his textbook, but the Gryffindor had seemed to become more proficient in Potions since the past year.

Again, he tore his eyes away, stirring the potion as directed and waited for another piece of advice from his raven-haired partner. Receiving none, he followed the exact directions from the book and let the potion sit. He reached for his Arithmancy book and pulled it open to read over the material to be covered in the next period. Draco vowed he wouldn't look at Potter again unless absolutely necessary.

Not often, anyway.

----

When classes had finished, Ginny made her way slowly toward the boy's staircase in the Gryffindor dormitories. She stared with sad eyes up into the stairwell, not making any move to traverse the steps. Boys passed her infrequently and without a second glance in their haste to get back to their beds. Her heart was in her throat and she clenched a fist over the area, feeling a mad pulse pounding under her knuckles.

She felt a hand on her upper back and body heat against her right side. She didn't move her eyes, already knowing who was offering her his support. She sighed and leaned slightly toward him but not pressing against the comforting presence. "Thanks," she whispered.

"No problem," the hand disappeared and Neville walked up the stairs quickly.

Several seconds later, Ron, Seamus and Dean were chattering about whom was using which broom from the storage shed when they went to throw the Quaffle around. Neville appeared not long after, hands in pockets and smiled comfortingly toward Ginny's grateful face. He paused in front of her and fixed her with a warm look. "Take care of yourself Gin," and he walked off.

Breathing deeply through her nose, Ginny moved forward, climbing up the stairs slowly and carefully. Her knees were quaking, fingers clenching and unclenching, heart pounding and trying to escape through her esophagus. She found she didn't remember much of the trip up the stairs to the seventh year boys' dorm. She stared at the worn wood of the door, reached out and stroked the wood with a finger. Her previously prepared speech flew out of her with each breath and she had no idea why she was going to do what she planned.

Her left hand reached for the doorknob and rotated it slowly and without a sound. Pushing the door open, she gave out a long breath and walked inside. "Harry?" she called tentatively, voice wavering with her apprehension.

There was movement in one of the beds. She could hear it and she knew that it was from Harry's. The curtains that were drawn securely around the bed did not flicker in the slightest. Ginny felt her heart shudder, stop and then resume its mad pace once again. It was painful but she walked toward the bed.

She could hear his shallow breath and wondered if he was asleep. It certainly did sound like he could be; she'd seen him asleep plenty of times. The boy was prone to short bursts of snoring and she figured she'd find out if he was faking it in a few seconds.

A grunting sound and then a dragging intake of breath through the nose was heard from behind the curtains and Ginny relaxed by several degrees. She moved to her brother's bed, sitting on it and staring at the drawn curtains that were so still. She put her elbows on her knees and rested her chin against her upturned palms.

Sighing, she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Deep breath, let it out slowly. Deep breath, let it out slowly. Deep breath… she chanted to herself in her head as she tried to calm herself. Harry was much less difficult to deal with when he was asleep. She could see why she'd fallen in love with him when he was asleep. He looked so innocent during this time and she felt an almost motherly affection toward him in those moments.

She wanted to take care of him, wanted to help him but she didn't know how. She was going through mourning and trying to regain some sense of normalcy at the same time. With Voldemort gone, everyone was in a sense of limbo, where they couldn't quite remember how to live without the danger hanging over their heads and didn't know how to proceed. Ginny was no exception, especially since she'd known Voldemort was a threat for longer than the general populace and had been directly affected.

Ginny needed to be taken care of. She knew this and yet she also knew that she loved Harry. Harry Potter had been influenced the most by the Dark Lord and so, was more in need of care than anyone. Two people who need comfort could not seek solace in each other. It was especially so since they didn't know how to deal with their own problems, let alone another's.

Sighing once more, Ginny rubbed her face with her hands. Her eyes burned and she could feel tears of frustration building at the corners of her eyelids. It was so unfair that, with the danger plaguing them for years finally gone, they were still not living the lives that they wanted. She'd had the image, the _dream_, that once the war was over she would marry Harry, have children, settle down and live happily ever after.

The reality of the situation was like a slap in the face. She crashed into the real world, happily ever after thrown out of her mind like a leaf in a hurricane. Harry Potter had to face his own demons and he didn't want any solace or comfort from anyone. Ginny had tried by projecting what she wanted from other people on Harry. She wanted someone to be there, an 'everything will be alright' person that would pick her up and wrap his arms around her.

She groaned softly and at the same time Harry snored rather loudly. She smiled shakily, seeing what the boy must look like behind that curtain and wanted so desperately to be able to climb into that bed with him and sleep forever. Ginny felt frustration, anger, love and sadness all at once and she felt so tired of it.

She stood, still smiling although a bit sadly, and opened the curtain. Her heart stuttered a bit and she reached out toward the sleeping beauty that had once been the love of her life. She leaned closer to him and brushed her lips against his cheek ever so softly. Parting her lips, she moved closer to his ear and whispered, "Wake up Harry."

Harry's journey from sleep to wakefulness was almost instantaneous. It was obviously a habit earned from years of paranoia and constant danger. Wide green eyes were fixed on Ginny in panic and he reached out to grasp her elbow, holding on tightly as if she would be snatched away from him without a second's notice.

Ginny felt her eyes well with tears and she sighed softly. She reached out her right hand and cradled Harry's face gently. The grip on her elbow relaxed, but did not let go completely, a sign that Harry was still confused and wanted to ensure there was no danger. Ginny gave a quick flick of her elbow to signal Harry to let go and sat down at the edge of his bed.

The Gryffindor male furrowed his eyebrows and sat up, the covers dropping to his waist where his pajama bottoms rode low, revealing the thin band of his underwear. Ginny averted her eyes quickly, not wanting to get distracted by the boy's attractiveness. It was comical how the raven-haired wizard had absolutely no idea how devastatingly handsome he was.

"What's going on?" Harry's voice was still hoarse and thick from sleep, and Ginny found it so endearing that her stomach rolled in rebellion against what she was about to do.

"You're right." Ginny whispered after the silence had become a roaring in her ears.

"Erm-" Harry cleared his throat, swallowed and started again. "I'm right about what?"

Ginny clasped her hands tightly together and she fixed her eyes upon the delicate wrists with veins bulging slightly and the knuckles that were turning white with a soft pink around the edges. She marveled at the realization that she had even more freckles on the backs of her hands. They were so crammed together that she looked sort of tan if you looked from –

Wait.

"I'm sorry." Ginny replied, her voice so soft that Harry was having trouble understanding, despite their proximity. "I was referring to what you said earlier."

Ginny saw Harry's head duck down and long pale fingers picking at the duvet in her periphery. Her eyes started to ache and burn, she closed them tightly. Blinking a few times, she shifted bodily to face the boy no- _man_ next to her and raised her gaze to his worried expression hidden ineffectively by untamed hair. Ginny reached out to brush the strands away from his eyes but only made it halfway before deciding against it.

"Gin, I-" Harry muttered as he rubbed the back of his neck, still looking downwards.

"Shh, just-" she swallowed. "Just let me get this out, okay?" She watched the boy nod hesitantly and shoulders tighten, as if he were preparing himself for a beating.

"I care for you Harry. I care for you a great deal more than I should, really. Despite this, I sense that-" Why was this so hard to say? Her eyes hurt even worse than before, especially at the corners where moisture was once again building up. "I sense there is no hope that we can ever feel the same about each other."

Harry's head snapped up and he opened his mouth as if to defend himself but Ginny reached forward and closed her palm over his mouth. She moved her face close to his, their foreheads almost touching. Her throat started to swell, like she was keeping something down there and needed release. She tried to swallow it down but it seemed to be more painful than her eyes were.

Tears began to fall freely down her cheeks and she silently cursed herself for not keeping her cool. She decided to plough on regardless of how terribly it was going. "I love you, Harry Potter." Ginny closed her eyes after saying those words so that she wouldn't see the pain and anxiety that marred that handsome face in front of her. "I want what's best for you and I'm afraid that I am no longer it. I hope you find that special person. I hope that you can find the peace you need to carry on and I hope that I can find it, too."

His green eyes had travelled from her face to the bedspread through her speech and now she felt her heart break as they slowly rose to meet hers. He looked lost but lighter at the same time, as if being lost was what he needed in order to make sense of things. One dark eyebrow quirked in a way that reminded her of one of Malfoy's derisive expressions and both his hands reached for the hand that was still covering his mouth.

She didn't know what to expect him to do, but what he did was not something she would have predicted from Harry. Her blue eyes widened a bit as he pulled her hand from his mouth and moved it down to his heart. As she closed her eyes she felt the itch of tears drying on her face, the smell of sadness and the quick beating of Harry Potter's heart.

"I'm sorry that I can't be what you need Ginny."

Ginny's eyes fluttered open to focus on the green gaze being bestowed upon her. Harry's eyes were molten with his earnestness and remorse. The redhead gave him a serious expression in return, "I'm sorry too."

When Harry's head ducked down in shame she smiled and put a bit of pressure on his chest to call his attention back to her. "I'm sorry that I hexed you with everyone listening one room away."

The boy's face looked back to hers in shock before a crooked grin graced his handsome face. Her smile widened at the sight and suddenly they were both holding each other and laughing more than they had in their entire lives it seemed.

As they lay next to each other in Harry's bed, wiping tears of both sadness and mirth from their faces Ginny knew that it was going to be okay.

It had to be.

----

Author's Note: I was re-editing this piece, one that I had written a long time ago with plans to continue when life wasn't so absolutely mad, and I suddenly had to urge to post it as it is. i do have ideas on how to continue, but I am unsure of whether the story wants to or actually needs to. At any rate, I hope you enjoyed this work and, as always, critique/reviews are welcome. Thanks!

- Keiko -


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